I try too hard, and she doesn’t try enough. But maybe this time, if I meet her halfway, maybe she’ll take them step with me
“You can.”
She shakes her head and I try again, pushing my hand further to her, more insistent than I’ve ever been before. Because this timehasto be different. I get it this time. I know what’s really happening now. I get it. Finally, I fucking get it!
I didn’t the last time.
I didn’t know the consequences.
I didn’t know what I was asking of her.
*
“Come with me, Carrie,” I plead.
“Why didn’t you do it, Ethan? Why?” She cries like I haven’t said anything. Like I haven’t asked her the most important question in my life. “You said you would. You said you’d protect me!”
And I feel bad. I honestly do. But I couldn’t do it. Killing was bad, and surely there had to be another way. Surely there was always another way.
“It doesn’t have to be like this. We can go, together. I’ll look after you, Carrie, I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” I beg her, my arm still outstretched, my hand still open, palm up, forever reaching for her.
“Your promises don’t mean anything,” she says, and she sounds angry, and I don’t like angry Carrie. I shake my head, because it’s not true. I mean my promises, but she tricked me into this promise and I can’t do it. “You lied to me. You can’t keep me safe, Ethan. No one can.”
“Carrie—” I start, but she puts a hand up to stop me from talking, and I do, because I’m polite.
“I don’t want to hear it. You said you would kill him. It’s now or never. It’s me or him. It’s life or death. I can’t live like this anymore, I just can’t.” And she looks at me with those beautiful almond-shaped eyes of hers. “Please help me, Ethan. Kill him for me. Kill my dad! Stop him from hurting me ever again, please.” And then she breaks down crying as if saying the words out loud are a knife to her side.
It’s nighttime and we’re hidden down by the side of her house, below her father’s window.
This was where we said we would meet.
This is where she gave me the knife, the knife I hold in my sweaty hand right now.
This is where she first told me what he had been doing to her, and this is where I was sick on the ground afterwards.
This is where she told me what my dad had been doing and how he’d punched her in the stomach to make her lose the baby.
I look down at the knife. It’s big and sharp, with shiny metal teeth that glint in the moonlight like a crocodile in the water. It scares me, this deadly weapon, this knife that should be used for cutting food, not human flesh.
Can I do it?
Could I carve out his heart and feed it to him?
He deserves it, after all.
How could he hurt her like that?
How could I promise to save her and then not follow through?
How could her mother let it happen?
I swallow and look up at her. Her eyes still glisten, and so does the knife.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad,I think.
